


You're Worse Than Nicotine

by FeatheredLegacy



Category: Panic! at the Disco, Ryden - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7563202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatheredLegacy/pseuds/FeatheredLegacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The apricot walls. The bright green curtains. The squeaky plastic chairs and the loud obnoxious voices. </p><p>Clouds of dark grey smoke. Bottles of liquid ember. A hunger that cannot be filled. An addiction. </p><p>It is hell. But a hell that feels so right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Worse Than Nicotine

Chapter 1

I shouldn't be doing this.

Soft tremors shook Ryan's spine, hands moving from gripping his knee to curling into a fist, knuckle bones sliding under his pale skin. His adams apple bopped.

I really shouldn't be doing this.

As if oblivious to Ryan's internal struggle, the chatter of voices around him never slowed, continuing to flex in volume and enthusiasm. The soft music coming from a stereo that was obviously many years past its throw out date found itself in the small gaps of silence that the talking didn't reach. Music that was claimed to be calming but was really chaotic guitar rifts and drum beats echoed in the depts of his mind.

Its not like Ryan wanted to be there, as a matter of fact he would of preferred to be anywhere but. The image of him sitting out on a terrace with an old guitar in one hand and a stress-relieving cigarette in the other plagued his thoughts like a bad film stuck on repeat.

Sometimes he really hated Spencer.

But of course that was the anger in his chest talking, or maybe his lungs screaming at him from the depths of hell asking for another hit. All he knew is that his trembling, blackened fingers and dry throat couldn't last much longer in the small apricot coloured room with people talking about their bad habits of too much sex and how their wallet somehow turned into bottles of whiskey.

Ryan didn't find his smoking that big of a deal, anyways. He'd even seen Spencer with a roll of tobacco in his hands one too many times; the hypocrite. So what if maybe Ryan went through a packet a day, sometimes two. The stench of cigarette smoke never quite leaving his clothes and his hands trembling whenever he didn't have a grip on the thin rolling paper stuffed with fresh tobacco and sweet, sweet nicotine. He wouldn't call it an addiction, merely a hobby, or perhaps a stress reliever.

Certainly no reason for Spencer to make him go to a support club about it.

Ryan wouldn't necessarily say he is a mean person, just somebody who doesn't give the slightest shit about other peoples problems. He still couldn't believe he spent 50 bucks to listen to other peoples over exaggerated sop stories. Spencer Smith was a convincing person, that was for sure.

Ryan dragged his bloodshot, half asleep eyes over to the the ticking - Once white but now slightly yellow clock, his mood dampening upon realising he had only been there for 10 minutes. Another 50 minutes to go. Great.

The white plastic chair that was probably made from 20 percent gum made Ryan's back ache, causing the chair to release an unbearably shrill shriek as he shifted his weight. The room went silent, and he slowly looked up to find what he suspected to be true. All 12 pairs of eyes were trained on him. Double great.

"Ross Ryan was it?"

Ryan's eyes trained on the woman who was sitting across from him in the circle of chairs, clear blue eyes covered by thick framed glasses and hair camouflaging into the apricot walls. Her eyes were bright, and the enthusiasm in them made Ryan have an instant dislike to the middle aged lady. He was quite clearly wearing a name tag too, the words RYAN ROSS written as big and bold as it could be.

"Its Ryan, Ryan Ross." The dry words with not even a hint of warmth couldn't of sounded more aggravated. He was fully prepared to just sit back and wait for the gruelling session to end, going home and yelling to Spencer about how he was never going near another support club again. However, he was not enthusiastic about being interrogated. In any form of the word.

The woman - who Ryan caught an eye onto her name tag and concluded to be named Mandy, looked to be about to ask a million energetic phrases of 'How have you been doing' and 'We are here for you'; although was stopped by a loud, and clumsy entrance of another character. A boy, who couldn't of been a year older than Ryan, with a messy crop of dark brown hair and dazed, mildly intoxicated honey brown eyes, stumbled into the brightly coloured room with enough force to leave the door slamming into the wallpaper. Ryan hoped it left a mark.

"Sorry i'm late." Was the slurred response into the once again, silent room. The boy straightened up, bringing Ryan to the fact that he was originally slumped against the doorframe. He was short. Well, shorter than Ryan. His eyes drifted across the room, a lazy sort of smirk on his face that reminded Ryan of a cheshire cat.

"Ah. Brendon Urie, how nice of you to join us."

The amount of sarcasm that came out of Mandy's peach lipstick covered lips was the complete opposite of how she had been not 20 seconds prior. It was obvious that the Brendon kid was somehow known by the supervisor and other clients, at least thats what Ryan gathered by the uncomfortable glances being shared across the room. Although the club was held every week, so he presumed some had been here many times before.

Without no other sort of greeting Brendon walked into the room, looking to be trying not to stumble. The towering stacks of plastic chairs in the corner of the room looked intimidating in front of the shorter male as he went to grab one. He had the grace of an injured gazelle, legs flailing out in front of him as he took each step, appearing to be struggling to find themselves back on the ground. An unbearable few seconds passing as Brendon grabbed his own plastic chair and shuffled the seat between two annoyed looking woman across from Ryan. He collapsed into the seat, leaning back and letting his long legs spread out across the beige carpet, looking out of place between the elegant straight backs and folded legs of everybody else. Ryan had an even quicker dislike to the man than he did the enthusiastic supervisor that was eyeing Brendon with narrowed eyes of liquid topaz.

It seemed the whole room released an involuntary sigh as Brendon flicked out a dented metal flask and held it to his trembling lips, eyes fluttering closed as he took a large gulp of its contents.

"Mr. Urie, how many times have I told you not to come here intoxicated, and certainly not to bring alcohol." Mandy sounded like a disappointed parent, lips curled downwards and an evident frown on her once ageless face as she spoke. She didn't sound angered anymore, more defeated than anything. Ryan presumed the struggle had been going on for a while. "If you are not going to make an effort to stop this habit, than being here is not going to do anything."

Brendon didn't bat an eyelid at the lecture, putting the lid back onto the flask and flipping it into his jeans pocket calmly. Mandy appeared to give up, muttering words under her breath that not even Ryan could decipher. Thankfully, she had happened to forget her original socialisation with him, and Ryan made an effort to not move an inch in case the same thing happened a second time.

With the Brendon issue forgotten, the clients resumed their chatter and Ryan went back to thinking about how much satisfaction he was going to get from hitting Spencer upside the head once he got back to their apartment. He knew his best friend was just trying to help him, but he didn't need help.

Maybe he should force Spencer to go to a support club about being so annoying.

"-I hope to see you all again next week."

Ryan blinked out of his thoughts at the sound of Mandy's voice. He hadn't realised so much time had passed. The support leader appeared to be back to her original, enthusiastic self, and even Ryan had to admit he preferred it to the disappointed one.

Everybody looked to stand up at once, and Ryan leant back in his squeaky chair to wait for the crowd to pass. Big groups never were his thing. It was like he was back in school, regardless of the fact he had graduated half way through his sophomore year - not 5 years prior.

The crowd trickled through the door with a steady pace, leaving Ryan behind with it; Even Mandy had disappeared. He stood up, stretching his legs as he looked around the room, nearly jumping as he noticed somebody else was also in the room.

Brendon sat slumped on his plastic chair, head leant back and eyes closed. Drool was drying in a trickle down the corner of his mouth, his chest softly rising and falling with quiet snores. Ryan was surprised he hadn't noticed him falling asleep earlier. Looking around the room, he realised nobody had even bothered to wake him up. 

Ryan walked to the door, halting at the doorframe and glancing back. Brendon wasn't even Ryan's problem. But it was late, darkness framing the closed green curtains covering the one large window in the room. The old ticking clock signalling it was 20 past 9. Ryan had chosen the late session for a reason, he liked to have the day to himself.

He released a sigh as he swivelled around. All he wanted was a cigarette, not to awkwardly awaken a groggy drunk. But he did so nonetheless, stepping over to the slumped back figure.

Ryan took a moment to study Brendon. He was all pale skin, long limbs and dishevelled hair; cheekbones and cupid bow lips. Couldn't have been older than 22, definitely one of the youngest alcoholics Ryan had seen.

Motion uncomfortable, brain rushing with concealed memories and bottom lip pressed between his teeth, Ryan reached out a bony hand and pushed it against the mans shoulder. It was a sharp movement, nearly pushed Brendon back off his chair, but Ryan knew it would be enough to awaken him.

The mans eyes snapped open with an exhaled gasp, just as Ryan expected. Legs spreading to steady himself and hands curling around the side of the plastic piece. Brows furrowing as he caught sight of Ryan.

"Hey! What was that for." Brendon spoke, voice croaky. Ryan was grateful he didn't sound as intoxicated as he did earlier.

"Get up. Everybody's gone." Ryan grumbled, stepping back and beginning to wander back to the door without another word. His hand already beginning to rifle through his jeans pocket for his favourite cardboard box of relief.

"Oh."

Brendon sounded confused, like he hadn't even realised the fact and had just become aware. From his turned back, Ryan heard the man scramble to his feet and speed up behind him. "I saw you. You were at the club right?"

"Obviously." Ryan muttered in response, pulling out his small packet of cigarettes with eager fingers and dry lips as the two of them left the room and began heading down the hall of the building.

"Now either you have a serious problem, or just really love smokes." Brendon commented, stepping into pace beside him. Ryan flashed a confused glance at Brendon's grinning expression. "The only time I've seen anybody look at something like you just looked at that packet of cigarettes is when a girl takes off her shirt in a bar full of guys."

Ryan shrugged his shoulders, flicking out a smoke from the packet with his slender fingers. "That actually happened?" He questioned after a moment in an attempt to change the subject.

"It was an uncomfortable experience." Brendon joked, the smile never leaving his face. Ryan couldn't figure out how somebody who consumed so much alcohol could be so happy.

Ryan rolled his eyes as they stepped out into the icy wind, hair flying around his face as he shivered and placed the cigarette between his lips, hand digging around in his jacket pocket for his lighter. Brendon wrapped his arms around himself, eyes squinting from the force of the wind. 

"I can't believe it's November already." Brendon muttered as Ryan lit his smoke, exhaling a relieved sigh as the taste of nicotine on his tongue finally returned.

"Well that happens after October, you know." Ryan responded dryly. He wasn't a joke filled person, a polar opposite in fact; and by the shuffling feet and pause in Brendon's movement, the other man had evidently noticed.

It took a few minutes of awkward silence for Brendon to speak again. 

"So.. You coming next week?" His voice shook with the force of the chill that was seeping into both of the mens bones, a scoff escaping Ryan's cigarette enclosed lips in response.

"God no." 

"I only go because its something to do." Brendon exclaimed, rubbing his hands together.

"Did I ask for your excuse?" Ryan snapped, straightening up. His eyes continued to gaze across the road, the flickering lights of a cinema lighting up his face as smoke swirled around his head.

"Well no, but I said so anyways so at least one of us could attempt a conversation." Brendon grumbled in defence, head tilted to watch the taller of the two. 

"What are you even still doing here?" 

Brendon's eyes narrowed subconsciously as he found himself getting more and more riled up by Ryan's snappy responses. It was surprising how quickly the mood had changed. "I'm waiting for my bus, what are you still doing here?" 

"Waiting for you to shut up."

Brendon rolled his eyes at the childish statement, keeping his lips shut regardless. He wasn't drunk enough to continue such an irrelevant argument. So he waited, only opening his mouth once more to mutter a quiet goodbye as his bus pulled up and he stepped onto the steps; Turning back as the doors swung closed only to find Ryan gone. The only thing that signalled he was there in the first place being the cloud of smoke slowly fading in the cold winters air.


End file.
